Christmas is absolutely my favourite time of the year. Every Christmas Eve, Maman lays out a glass of sherry and a couple of macaroons and a carrot for the reindeer and we get into our pyjamas, say our prayers and hop into bed. I pray for an extra-large present in the morning, but don’t admit that to anyone as I know Maman would be angry with me. ‘Un-Christian,’ she would say.
I can never sleep for the excitement, and I am always convinced that I hear Père Noël tip-toeing around the house leaving goodies for everyone at the foot of their beds. Dimitri says it’s impossible that I could ever see him as he has to visit so many children in one evening and he worked out that Père Noël can stay for only 3. 2 milliseconds in each house and that isn’t even as long as a blink. He has to visit around a million billion thousand children in one night. Approximately. And he doesn’t even just visit the children in France – he goes all over the world. He probably won’t go to Germany this year though, because the children there have been really naughty.
Anyway, I’m not sure Dimitri has factored in the time-zone difference. We have been learning about this in Geography. Apparently in Australia it is daytime when it is night and summer when it is winter – most peculiar. I’m sure that Père Noël does stay a while, as the sherry and the macaroons have always been drunk and eaten, and he is magical so can probably stop time, or something like that.
I’m nervous that he might not come at all because there is a war on and a lot of things have stopped because of it. No one drives cars any more, although I know Père Noël has a sleigh with reindeer, so a lack of petrol won’t stop him. Maman has told me that he will still visit but might bring different types of things this Christmas because of these ‘trying times’. Hitler must be trying to win a war in Lapland too. And what with the fact that we’ve moved house twice, I’m really not sure Père Noël will be able to keep up – it makes my head spin and I am a part of this family. He has remembered for the last two years, so I sincerely hope he will this year too.
Papa has been reading to us by the fire, stories about an English king called Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. My favourite is Sir Gawain and the opening part of the story where he beheads the Green Knight who then picks up his head from the floor and walks out! Eléonore only seems to like the sissy bits where they all fall in love, and squeals every time Papa mentions a duel. I imagine she sees herself shut up in a tower, waiting for a prince to come. I wouldn’t mind so much if she was; but I can’t really imagine who would want to travel all that far to free her. Oh dear, I think that was another ‘un-Christian’ thought. I hope Père Noël can’t listen to my thoughts like Jesus can.
Luc and I are playing snap. Eléonore has asked to join us and I have said yes – it is Christmas after all. It is a lively game and only hard when Eléonore or I have the matching cards as Luc is so slow, and often yells ‘SNAP!’ when he has turned over a different suit or number. Eléonore patiently explains the rules to him one more time and he looks at me over her shoulder and rolls his eyes. It makes me giggle and Eléonore gets in a strop and refuses to play with us any more and goes back to her book but that is fine by me. I win quickly after that, and Luc still continues to shout ‘SNAP!’ at all the wrong moments.
All this is interrupted by Papa dragging in the most enormous Christmas tree. Instantly the room smells of Christmas. I jump up to run and get the little men that I have made out of pine cones. Maman asks Claudette to help her. One special decoration is wrapped in a box with lining to stop it breaking, and I recognize it from Paris when Claudette pulls it out.
‘Careful. Tristan darling this one is made of glass and my own mother watched the man making it,’ Maman says, motioning for Claudette to pass it to me to hang. It is beautiful, all gold, like there are little lights dancing inside it.
We spend ages decorating the tree so it looks as if it is dripping in diamonds, like a film star. As Papa removes the final piece, the star for the top, from the box, we all gasp in unison. He reaches up to the top of the tree and places the star over the twig sticking up at the top. The six-pointed star completes the tree and we all stand back and admire our work.
I suddenly think of Samuel, the boy who never returned to my school. I wonder where he is this Christmas. The star twinkles in the light of the room. I beam at it and at my family as Papa sits down and plays carols in the soft light.